Is this America's coolest city?

My car is accelerating up an abrupt incline at ferocious, atrocious speed as the searing Texan sun glances off the burnt-orange bonnet. I say car but it’s technically a supercar; in 3.4 seconds we have gone from stationary to 60mph on the finest ribbon of racetrack in North America.

The last time I steered a McLaren it was a baby buggy containing my younger daughter. My other car is a venerable Renault estate that smells of puppy. But the best sort of travel takes us out of our comfort zone, and bombing around the Circuit of the Americas in the passenger seat of a McLaren 12C effortlessly qualifies as a major life experience.

Downton Austin by nightCredit:
AP

Forget walking in the footsteps of giants; I am hot-lapping the Formula One track where Lewis Hamilton and his peers have previously revved up their engines for the Grand Prix, the only F1 venue in the United States. It’s located in Austin, capital of the Lone Star State, easily reached via direct flights from Heathrow. Austin really is unique: fascinating and quirky, creative and outdoorsy, hugely musical – and, given its setting, bizarrely anomalous.

“People hear the word Texas and they visualise a longhorn skull bleached by the sun, a spiny cactus and miles of sand,” observes my taxi driver, drily. “In Austin that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s as near to heaven on earth as it gets; only problem we have here in Austin is that we’re surrounded by Texas.” Quite so. Austin, famed for its nightlife, its outdoor graffiti art gallery and regularly dubbed “the drunkest city in the US” is to Texas as Berlin is to Germany, which is to say it proudly, provocatively, perversely bears little resemblance to the rest of the state. By way of immediately cementing Austin’s reputation as the Live Music Capital of the World, its airport has no fewer than six stages where bands – hip hop, indie country, rock – play through arrivals and departures alike.

Oh yes, and they say “awesome” a lot. Without a trace of irony. Needless to say, this is quite off-putting, initially. So too is the slow, elaborate Southern politeness that means even the simplest request – for a menu or directions or a hotel bill – must be book ended with a sincere “How are you today?” at the start and a heartfelt “Have a nice day” to finish. To begin with, I consciously have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. After 48 hours, however, I have ramped up my congeniality index to the point where this sort of leisurely exchange seems the most civilised form of interaction imaginable. Apparently it’s the norm across the Deep South, but in Austin it just amplifies the sense that everybody is on holiday.

Or if not on holiday per se, then willing extras in one of those annoying, yet irresistibly aspirational mobile phone television adverts. You know the sort; achingly cool people drinking craft beer and browsing antique stalls, complete with a plinkety-plonkety soundtrack of an earnest girl on an acoustic guitar singing about sunshine, swimming in the lake and everyday happiness. That, in a nutshell, is Austin. Or at least, it’s the kernel of Austin, one of the fastest-growing cities in the US. There are many more layers, making for an endlessly surprising mix of Texan tastes and Austin flavours.

"There’s room for everyone so long as they obey the street signs to 'drive friendly'."

A typical high-rise city – albeit with rather more playful architecture than most – Austin is built on the banks of the Colorado river, where a vast area of recreational parkland sees locals gravitate to bathe and row and run the length of its banks with their fashion-forward dogs: Weimaraners and rangy Lurchers. A thriving silicon hub (think Seattle without the rain), it’s the home of Dell computers, the place where Real Foods was founded and still has its headquarters with a wooded copse on its roof.

The Roots performing in Austin in March 2016Credit:
Getty

The city is a veritable model of laid-back living, with myriad festivals, including South by Southwest, an international film, music and interactive media conference in March, family jamboree Eeyore’s Birthday in April, Rodeo Austin and the Republic of Texas Biker Rally.

There’s room for everyone so long as they obey the street signs to “drive friendly”. Bearded soya latte hipsters live peaceably alongside students from the University of Texas, one of just eight so-called “public Ivy League” colleges that offers a top-drawer education at a state-school price. The university’s American football team, the Longhorns, is so commercially successful it subsidises the academic side of the institution; the very opposite of the norm.

The university quarter also houses the Blanton Museum of Art, which has a fine European Renaissance collection and the Harry Ransom Centre, a world-class archive featuring nearly 36 million literary manuscripts, an original Gutenberg Bible and the first ever photograph, Nicéphore Niépce’s View from the Window at Le Gras.

Street art in AustinCredit:
AP

I arrive in Austin with a rookie list of stereotypical things to do; take a selfie with a cowboy, eat breakfast tacos, buy cowgirl boots and do the Texan two-step in a honky tonk bar. But I rapidly discover there are no cowboys in Austin. None. It would be like finding a Pearly King wandering disconsolately around Bristol; comically poignant.

The rest of my schedule is easy to complete, not least because Austin is a gratifyingly walkable city, give or take the broiling September temperature that nudged 39C. It has several official mottos, the first being “Keep Austin Weird”, closely followed by its “Live Music Capital of the World” moniker.

Sixth Street, colloquially known as Dirty Sixth, is a string of drinking dens and music venues, primarily frequented by university students . The road is pedestrianised at weekends to facilitate good-natured revelry, which sees frat boys, topless in board shorts and sneakers, singing, hugging and harmlessly emoting after a night on (to our palates pathetically weak) American beer. More mature drinkers tend to gravitate towards the upscale Rainey Street, where historic buildings and several shipping containers have been converted to bars, with the proviso that at least one original wall must be retained, adding to the eclecticism. In Bangers, the menu includes a tattoo. For free.

But Sixth has at least one unforgettable attraction, namely Pete’s Dueling [sic] Piano Bar, possibly the most fun you can have (a bit) sober. Or (a bit) drunk. Two flamboyant piano players seated at facing baby grands hammer out tunes with Vegas panache for tips. In the first half-hour we segue from Billy Joel to Britney Spears, Bon Jovi, Lady Gaga, Pharrell Williams and, when someone throws down $100, Bohemian Rhapsody. And all the while the audience sings along. It’s raucous and funny and in all its high-energy, low-cynicism joyfulness, a quintessentially American form of entertainment.

It’s not always comfortable to be a solo traveller in any city once dusk falls (and incidentally, around 1.5 million bats emerge from Congress Avenue Bridge) but Austin is so friendly that conversation between strangers comes naturally. Not just while bat-watching. In the Elephant Room I listen to classy, brassy jazz and find myself joined by a couple of heroically melancholy Cuban émigrés into the small hours.

Next day, over a transcendental frappacino, the barista chats to me about international coffee trends. And as I try on a pair of short cowboy boots at Caveners, a western outpost in a retail park, the assistant first assures me they make my calves look “delicious”, then, when I decide to buy them, she links arms with me, raises them above her head and calls “Hey guys, these boots are going to England!”

While I pay up, she sets about Googling local dancing venues, so I can break them in. I do so, many hours later, at The White Horse Saloon, which boasts a rail out front for tying up mules. The evening begins with lessons in two-step, that I nonetheless fail to grasp. This is unimportant until the dancing starts for real and I find myself whirled on to the floor by a string of enthusiastic men whose disappointment in me is so palpable, I leave early to avoid any further humiliation (them and me).

Shopping is as offbeat as every other Austin pursuit; eclectic antique stores, “upcycled” jewellery and vintage-style boutiques abound. By the end, however, I must confess to feeling slightly cheated not to have experienced “real” – that is to say, cowpoke, Second Amendment, arms-bearing, stetson-wearing, God-fearing redneck – Texas. And then I hear about Ginny’s Little Longhorn Saloon, on the edge of town, where, to the fabulous strains of Alvin Crow and his band, they play “Chicken S--- Bingo”.

And so I find myself queuing in the heat with a plastic beaker of wine (“We do not have a hard liquor licence, Ma’am”) to get a numbered ticket. I pay $2 and number 12 is mine.

A fat black chicken is carried in from a shed and placed in a large wire hutch, which has numbered squares on the floor. Said chicken has just been fed, so we don’t have long to wait. A cry goes up. “It’s pooped! It’s pooped on number 49.”

A fistful of crumpled greenbacks are counted into a punter’s lucky palm by Ginny herself. Then it’s free bowls of jambalaya all around. Another unforgettable life experience. Here’s to Keeping Austin Weird.

Essentials

Judith Woods travelled to Austin courtesy of Circuit of the Americas (circuitoftheamericas.com); see longhornracingacademy.com for more information on driving experiences on the track and further details. British Airways (ba.com) flies direct from London Heathrow to Austin Bergstrom.